“Trauma surgery waiting area,” she said.“Down the hall, left at the elevators.”
I started to move, then stopped when Nita’s fingers latched onto my sleeve.Her eyes pleaded.
“I’ll come back, go to the ICU waiting room.I’ll go there when I finish with the doc.”I ordered.“I promise.”
Nita nodded, but she didn’t look convinced the universe still understood what promises meant.
The trauma surgery waiting area was quieter, dimmer, as if someone had decided the families of the dying deserved softer lighting.There were two other uniforms there—guys from our precinct.Their faces were tight, eyes tracking me like they were looking for answers I didn’t have.
“Verdone,” one of them said, standing.“Captain is here.”
My stomach dropped.Supervisor presence wasn’t unusual after an officer-involved shooting.Protocol.Procedure.But the word still hit like an accusation.
“I don’t care,” I said.“Where’s the surgeon?”
“Take a seat, he’ll be right back.He sent a nurse to get you.”
A door opened and a man in scrubs stepped out, surgical cap still on, mask hanging around his neck.His eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion.
“Dante Verdone?”he asked to verify my identity.
I stood up, knees cracking.“Yes.”
“I’m Dr.Patel,” he said.“I’m the trauma surgeon on Officer Lamonte’s case.”
“How is he?”I asked, and my voice sounded like someone else’s.
Dr.Patel exhaled slowly.“He’s alive.He lost a lot of blood.The bullet lodged close to the carotid artery.We were able to remove it without catastrophic damage.He’s not out of the woods yet, but the surgery went better than expected.”
My entire body went weak with relief so sudden it made me dizzy.I gripped the back of a chair.“He’s alive.”
“Yes,” the doctor said, holding my gaze.“But he’s gonna have a tough recovery.There’s swelling.There’s a risk of complications—stroke, airway compromise, infection.We have him intubated and sedated.He’ll be moved to ICU shortly.”
“Can I see him?”
“Briefly,” Dr.Patel said.“Only for a moment.He’s in critical care, but you can go to his recovery room.”
I nodded, swallowing hard.“Thank you.”
The doctor hesitated, then added, “He’s a very lucky man.”
Luck.I didn’t feel lucky.I doubt Lamonte felt lucky right now even though yes, it’s a miracle he’s alive.I felt like the universe had spun a chamber and fired, and we were all just waiting to see who it hit next.
One of the guys from the precinct cleared his throat.“Verdone, you need to talk to the Captain.”
“Later,” I snapped, then immediately regretted the edge in my voice.These were my people.They were scared too.
But I couldn’t do politics right now.I couldn’t do procedure.
I could only do what was necessary to survive the next five minutes and then the next.
Chapter7
Loco
Lamonte looked too small in the hospital bed.Not physically—he was still built like a tank—but the tubes, the machines, the way his chest rose and fell with mechanical rhythm.It robbed him of his stubborn, loud presence.Turned him into something fragile.This man, this Marine, this cop, he was not fragile.
I stepped closer, heart hammering.His neck was bandaged thick, the dressing already tinged with red.A ventilator hissed softly around us.
